


setting fire to our insides for fun

by tobeconvincedoflove



Series: maybe we got lost in translation [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Break Up, Crying, Gen, M/M, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Vomiting, everyone is really Not Okay, happy thanksgiving!!! have some angst!!!, lots and lots of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2015-11-26
Packaged: 2018-05-03 13:30:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5292857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tobeconvincedoflove/pseuds/tobeconvincedoflove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're tired. They fight. Terrible things are said. But the aftermath is worse.</p><p>(Title comes from Youth by Daughter)</p>
            </blockquote>





	setting fire to our insides for fun

It’s because of the call, which is because of the meeting, which is because of the last week that everything falls apart. Enjolras knows that he’s frayed, that he’s not thinking clearly, but there’s a fire in his gut that isn’t going away. He’s pissed and he’s tired and he’s not fucking taking this anymore. 

“You need to get over here. He’s not doing well, and you need to fix it.” That’s all that Joly says before he hangs up. Enjolras sighs, turning around on the street. It’s cold and Grantaire has his gloves and his good hat and Enjolras was so close to home, but now he has to turn around and walk twenty minutes to Joly and Bossuet and Musichetta’s flat to try and fix this… even though he’s not quite sure he wants to. If that’s what R thinks of him and everyone else agrees, Enjolras isn’t sure why he’s trying so hard.

“What are you doing?” Courfeyrac is the only one who isn’t with Grantaire right now. “E, no,” Courfeyrac says once he sees the look in his eyes. “You need time to cool down and you need to sleep.” 

“I have to. I wasn’t really given an option, Courfeyrac,” Enjolras says, his voice hollow. “That’s how this goes, right? I have to apologize for being a cold-hearted bastard.” 

“That isn’t fair, E. They’re not thinking clearly. Hell, you’re not either, and R isn’t. He didn’t mean what he said, and neither did you. It’s been a rough week for everyone, and—“ 

“They’re all at his place. That’s how I know I fucked up. They’re taking his side because I’m the one who’s unhealthy for him, for his depression, and it’s better if I stay away from him,” Enjolras says bluntly, trying to swipe at a rebellious tear that falls down his face. For a minute, Courfeyrac is silent.

“I’m here. And Combeferre would be, but you wouldn’t let him,” Courfeyrac replies, taking Enjolras’s hand in his. “And it’s not that they’re taking sides. He just needs the help more.” There’s a pause as Enjolras takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself down.

“I know, I know. That’s why Combeferre needs to be there, but it’s just… I didn’t think it would hurt this much,” Enjolras admits. “I know he needs them more, but I just hate that they all assumed that I wouldn’t need them, too.” 

“Come on, let’s just get this over with.” Courfeyrac wraps his arm around Enjolras, using the other to pull the raggedy hat down. “Then you’re going to sleep, because you’re going to crash soon anyways.” 

“I don’t even remember what I said, what caused this. I’m just tired.”

:: ::

“You don’t get to tell me how you feel! _You_ hurt _me_ , and you don’t get to tell me that you didn’t.” Grantaire’s voice is low and dangerous, his hands balled in his hair and his eyes red.

“You hurt me, too!” Enjolras yells back, hands going into his pockets to hide their shaking. “You don’t even know what it’s been like.” 

“You didn’t have to stay. If you can’t handle what I’m going through, then you don’t have to stick around. I never told you that dealing with me was going to be easy,” Grantaire spits, striding towards Enjolras. 

“That isn’t it, R. You’re twisting my words. I’m not pissed about being there for you when you’re depressed. God, I never could be pissed about that. But I’m tired. I wouldn’t change staying up with you every night this week to make sure you’re okay, but it’s like you forgot that I was there. I wasn’t around today or yesterday because I had to get my coursework done,” Enjolras explains, trying to take shaky breaths to calm himself. “I have to disappear so that I can be there when I need to. And I’m still so far behind.” 

“Then just leave. If I’m taking too much time away from your school, then we all know what you really care about. And it isn’t me.” Suddenly, Joly’s hand is on Grantaire’s shoulder. “I think you should leave. Me and my _bipolar_ depression will be just fine without your _help_.” 

“That isn’t fair, R! I’ve put you in front of everything. Always. I love you,” Enjolras stutters out, even as Bahorel steps in front of Grantaire, crossing his arms. 

“You should go. You’ve done enough,” is all he says, and that’s when Enjolras breaks. His hand goes over his mouth and he just starts sobbing. He caves, because he’ll do anything to hold onto this, to hold onto the relationship with the man he loves. 

“I know you think I’m the asshole right now, and that’s okay. If I’m hurting you, I’ll leave. I’ll leave. I just… R, you have to know that I’m sorry for what I said at the meeting. I didn’t mean that you were a burden, or that I’d rather not have you around. I need you. I’m sorry. I’ll go now. I—I’ll be gone from the apartment by tomorrow.” Wiping at the snot dripping from his nose, Enjolras makes his way back outside of the apartment. 

In an instant, Courfeyrac pulls him in as tightly as he can, tucking Enjolras’s head beneath his chin as he just lets his best friend cry. “It’s okay. E, it’s okay. He just needs time to work through this. It’s not him, I swear.”

“He hates me,” Enjolras gets out.

“No he doesn’t. E, he doesn’t,” Courfeyrac tries to say, but it gets caught in his throat. He hates how much Grantaire is hurting his best friend right now. Suddenly, there’s another set of arms around them both.

“Do you need me right now?” That calming voice can only belong to Combeferre. In an instant, Enjolras is swiping at his eyes, backing out of the embrace. But he’s still sobbing. 

“I’ll be fine. You have to make sure he’s okay. His meds and everything are at the apartment, and he needs you guys more right now. I’ll be fine.” The strong effect is lost by the persistent sobs and voice cracks. Courfeyrac rarely sees Enjolras cry like this; he can count on one hind the number of times it’s happened. 

“You’re not fine, Enjolras. He has everyone there. I’m coming with you,” Combeferre strong-arms Enjolras, but Enjolras just shakes his head wildly. 

“You’re not everyone. You’re the only one who can calm him down sometimes and he doesn’t need to deal with this right now and—“ Enjolras’s hand goes over his mouth. “What have I done?”

“You’ve done something that you should’ve done a while ago. He needed to know that you have feelings in this, too. He needed to know how much you worry about him and what it does to you. He can get angry about you leaving to get what you need to do done but you do have things to do. He can’t expect your entire life to revolve around him,” Combeferre says calmly, his hands going to Enjolras’s shoulders. “He may think that you’re not healthy for him, but it isn’t healthy for you, either. When was the last time you slept?” 

“Monday.” Enjolras chokes on the words. “But they all hate me. It isn’t just R. They all think I’m this monster that doesn’t care and tears him down for fun. They think I don’t care.” 

“They don’t hate you. They’re pissed because what you said is tearing R up when he was already in a bad place, and they think this is going to help you get your shit together and appreciate him more—which is bullshit by the way—but they know that you hit a breaking point, too.” 

“I’m sorry for fucking everything up. I’m sorry for tearing the group in two,” Enjolras says, sliding down the wall. In an instant, Combeferre grabs Courfeyrac by the arm and leads him away from Enjolras. Enjolras just cries, unable to care that they’re talking about him like he isn’t right there. 

“Take him to our place. I’ll keep you updated on R, but for the love of God please don’t tell Enjolras. I know they’re going to migrate to their apartment soon, but I’ll swing by with some of Enjolras’s stuff. I’ll make sure to grab his melatonin, because you’re probably going to have to slip it into his _decaf_ coffee. Let me know if you need me there,” he says seriously. Courfeyrac just nods.

“How did we let it get this bad?” Courfeyrac whispers. “I had no idea what Enjolras was doing, or how bad it had gotten with R.” 

“That’s what we’re working to fix. Bahorel already feels like shit for kicking Enjolras out like that, and once R is more… stable, some of them will stop by to make sure he’s okay. It’s just a shitty situation, and I hate that it’s played out with the cards stacked against Enjolras.” Combeferre runs a hand through his hair, letting Courfeyrac place a kiss on his forehead that releases the tension instantly. 

“I’ll get him home. I’ll call when he’s asleep but, ‘Ferre, it shouldn’t have stacked against him like that. That’s a problem.” With a final kiss, Courfeyrac returns to Enjolras, helping him up and, hopefully, home.

:: ::

Three hours later, Courfeyrac is seriously considering calling Combeferre. Enjolras managed to pull it together on the way back, but honestly Courfeyrac would prefer Enjolras crying to Enjolras right now. Enjolras right now is refusing to stop catching up on problem sets and research and everything else doctorate students in math do. He’s parked on the floor of the living room, a whirlwind of papers around him. What’s worse is that Courfeyrac can still hear the occasional sniffle.

“Enjolras, you need to sleep. You can catch up on that tomorrow,” Courfeyrac tries for the umpteenth time that hour. 

“I can’t. I’m so behind and I need to be able to be there for R if he wants me to,” Enjolras mumbles. “And I’m fine. I’m not tired.” 

“Then you have to be hungry. Have you fallen behind on eating, too?” Courfeyrac slips from his position on the couch to the border between carpet and paper. It’s a threshold he hasn’t been willing to cross yet. 

“I’m not going to answer that,” Enjolras says, not even looking up. He’s squinting, a sign that he’s missing his reading glasses, and Courfeyrac hopes that Combeferre shows up soon. He’s not sure if he can handle this without him. Enjolras normally isn’t one to wear his heart on his sleeve, but right now it’s more than that—it’s fallen out and is lying dirty and squashed on the floor. 

“You’re not the one who’s studying for the bar, E. Don’t play that game,” Courfeyrac says, before sighing. “Look, I know you don’t want to hear this, but maybe you two do need some space right now.” 

“You agree with them?” Enjolras looks like the breath has been stolen straight from his lungs. 

“No. That’s not it. It’s that you’re not okay, too, and you need some time to get back on your feet. And working until you pass out isn’t the way to deal with this. We’ve been through it before, and it’s going to be so much worse if you get to that point again,” Courfeyrac says calmly. 

“I’m fine. I’m the one who’s fine,” is all Enjolras says, before he rubs the bridge of his nose. “I’d be even better if I could fucking see the numbers.” 

“Combeferre’s stopping by soon with some of your stuff. Your glasses will be there.” Tentatively, Courfeyrac finally crosses the threshold, moving to give Enjolras a hug. Surprisingly, Enjolras lets him, the rigid and tight muscles seeming to melt as Courfeyrac pulls him close. 

“I don’t know what else to do.” It’s a whisper, broken, and that’s all it takes for the tears to start again. “And I don’t even want to think about what R is thinking and going through right now.” 

“Don’t worry about him, E. Come on, I’ll make my famous mac and cheese and we can eat it straight out of the pot like we did when we were kids.” With a gentle kiss into the tangled blond curls, Courfeyrac pulls Enjolras out of the whirlwind and into the kitchen. Enjolras just sits on the kitchen counter and watches Courfeyrac cook silently. Now that he’s really looking, Courfeyrac can clearly see where his cheekbones got sharper and how his ribs are starting to poke out at his tee-shirt a little. That’s nothing compared to the depth of the circles under his eyes, or the way his hands just haven’t quite stopped shaking. The tears are now quietly streaming down his face instead of being accompanied by the wretched sounds that wracked his entire ribcage. Enjolras is a mess. 

Courfeyrac is just melting the butter onto the newly strained noodles when there’s the turning of a lock and Combeferre ducks into the apartment, followed by Feuilly. There’s a box in his hands that he gently places down, and Enjolras notices the way their eyes flick to the mess of the living room.

“You’re just in time. Do you want some?” Courfeyrac asks, as Enjolras tries to wipe his eyes in the wake of new people. 

“No. We should be getting back,” Feuilly says hesitantly, shuffling his feet a little as he sees Enjolras in just his khakis and tee-shirt, can see the way his shoulders are crumpling under the burden no one noticed before. They’re all close to R and his depression, but they forget that they’re close to Enjolras and his own problems, too. They really forget that too much, Feuilly thinks; he’s under pressure to finish his dissertation, to be there for R whenever he needs it, to be the leader of their organization, of their friend group, and that’s a lot for one person. 

“Hey, Courf, help me find the spare pillows and sheets for the sofa bed,” Combeferre says quickly. They don’t have a spare room, because they moved to a smaller apartment once Enjolras and Grantaire got a place together. As soon as they’re at the small hall closet, Combeferre slips the bottle of melatonin to his boyfriend.

“I’m eating out of the same pot as him, ‘Ferre,” Courfeyrac says. 

“Get some water into him, too, and slip it in there. He’s got to be dehydrated from all of that crying,” Combeferre says. “He’s refusing to stop working, isn’t he?” 

“As if the hurricane in our living room wasn’t proof enough. He’s going to crash soon, especially since he was working without his reading glasses. He could barely read,” Courfeyrac confirms. 

“Goddammit. He hasn’t fought us this hard since undergrad.” Combeferre runs a hand through his hair, but grabs the pillows and blankets and goes to make the sofa bed. 

“How’s R?” Courfeyrac asks the question carefully.

“We’re keeping a close eye on him. He’s mostly just crying and sleeping and talking about how much he loves Enjolras.” Combeferre’s tone is just as deliberate and careful. 

“So neither of them are okay. Are you going to drug him?” Courfeyrac asks. 

“Nah. He’s been surprisingly compliant and he’s sleeping a lot, anyways, and he took his meds,” Combeferre says. “This isn’t going to be easy to patch up, though. A lot was said.” 

“Yeah. I’m gonna get back to E, and I’ll make sure he gets the melatonin. It’ll take about an hour to take effect, though. Any tips until then?” 

“Get him to drink a shitton of water. Other than that just try to get him to know that it isn’t completely his fault.” With that, Combeferre quickly starts making up the bed and Courfeyrac heads back into the kitchen, where Enjolras is sitting with the mac ‘n cheese on the floor, an oven glove beneath the pot and two spoons in his hand. Feuilly is cleaning up the floor. 

“I’m going to give these to Courfeyrac for safe-keeping. You’ll get them back once you’ve slept a bit,” Feuilly calls out, and Enjolras just puts his head in his hands. 

“Please, please just go back to R. Make sure he’s safe. And if… if he asks, tell him I’m fine, and that I’m so, so sorry,” Enjolras says. Courfeyrac is really having a hard time keeping up with the fluctuations between anger and defeat, but he knows where they’re at right now, at least. 

“I’m not going to lie to him, E.” Feuilly sounds tired, and he’s looking to Combeferre for what he should do. 

“Would you lie to me? If I asked you if he was okay?” Enjolras’s voice shakes, and his hands thread through his hair. 

“No, I wouldn’t. He’s not doing so hot right now, either, which is why Combeferre and I have to get back.” Enjolras doesn’t look up, and because he’s so exposed everyone sees the way his muscles tighten up. There’s a sigh from Feuilly as he sits down next to Enjolras on the tile floor, and waits until Enjolras’s eyes meet his to speak again. “I know you’re feeling like you’re full of bits of broken glass right now, that you’re scared because you think they’re going to cut someone else like they cut Grantaire, but you’ve got to take care of yourself. Not doing that is what lead to this shit in the first place, and if you want to fix this that’s where you’re going to have to start. Just like Grantaire is going to have to start by not using you as a crutch.” 

“He’s not the one who has to fix this.” Feuilly looks into the blue eyes tainted with red, to the snot that’s dribbling from Enjolras’s nose and the way his long fingers shake and how he has his reading glasses on, even though he’s just looking at Feuilly’s face. “I’ve got to be better, Feuilly. I’ve got to stop tearing into him, into everyone. And I’ve got to make sure that I’m ready if he ever trusts me enough again to let me help.” 

“It’s getting late. Start by getting some sleep.” With a quick hug, Feuilly stands up and leaves with Combeferre. Courfeyrac immediately takes his place, gently taking a spoon. After he takes the first bite, Enjolras takes his. They eat in silence—Courfeyrac licking his spoon after every bite and Enjolras barely nibbling—until Courfeyrac stands up and comes back with two glasses of water, one of which he hands to his friend.

“I remember when we did this because you were pining over R,” Courfeyrac says, smiling at the memory. 

“I remember when we did this because he tried to kill himself,” Enjolras responds hollowly. That shuts Courfeyrac up for about twenty full seconds. 

“Not everything is your fault, E,” is what Courfeyrac comes up with. “They’re worried about you, too. I’ve been asked for updates at least once an hour by someone there, with him.” 

“I’m not worried about me. I’ll be fine. I have to be fine.” Courfeyrac looks like he’s about to interject, but Enjolras cuts him off with a sigh. “I’m too worried about him to think about anything else. I love him and I want him to be okay and I don’t think I can handle me not being a part of him being okay. I hate that I’m making everything worse for him.” 

“Come here,” Courfeyrac says, pulling his oldest friend in for a hug. “Things will get better.” 

For the next hour, they talk about old childhood memories over the pot of mac ‘n cheese. It’s only when Enjolras’s eyelids start drooping that Courfeyrac knows his friend is finally close to the sleep he’s needed for days.

“You drugged me.” There isn’t a hint of animosity in Enjolras’s voice. It’s not like it’s the first time this has happened.

“Technically, Combeferre drugged you. I was just the muscle of the operation. Come on, let’s get you to bed,” Courfeyrac says, helping a stumbling and shaky Enjolras to the sofa bed. He’s out in minutes, and Courfeyrac makes quick work of tucking him in and sending a picture to Combeferre. In response, he gets all of the Amis watching a movie, Grantaire in the middle of the blanket pile. 

Sighing, Courfeyrac settles down next to Enjolras and falls asleep, wrapping his arms around his friend.

:: ::

“Enjolras, do not answer the phone.” It’s about four o’clock in the morning, Enjolras has only slept for a few hours, and his cell phone is lit up with a picture of Grantaire’s face.

“Hello?” Enjolras’s voice shakes. 

“Dammit,” Courfeyrac mumbles, rolling over to try and get his friend to put the phone down, but in an instant Enjolras is up and locking himself in the bathroom. So Courfeyrac just sits with his back against the door, waiting for the inevitable blowup.

:: ::

“We need to talk.” Grantaire’s voice is oddly calm, and Enjolras sighs as he struggles to keep a new wave of tears at bay.

“I’m listening.” Dammit. His voice is shaking. 

“I can’t keep doing this, Enjolras. I already miss you, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t love you, but I can’t do this. I’ve put too much on you, and that wasn’t fair. I’ve got to sort out my shit by myself, and you need to sort out yours.” There’s so much pain in Grantaire’s voice that Enjolras can’t help the tears that start falling. He can hear then on Grantaire’s end, too, along with the banging on a door and the demands that Grantaire open it. “I’m so sorry, E.”

“I love you. Please don’t do this. I don’t know what they told you but I’m fine. _I’m_ sorry. I’m so sorry for what I said at the meeting and what I said at the apartment and for failing you. I love you, R. I need you.” Enjolras doesn’t know if Grantaire hears the last sentence because he’s crying too hard. He doesn’t want to accept what’s coming.

“You haven’t failed me, love. I swear you haven’t. I just need… Look. This isn’t healthy for me, and I don’t think anyone really thinks it’s great for you, either. I can’t handle this on top of everything. I’m sorry, Enjolras, but we have to stop this, I… I don’t need you. I don’t need you to do this to yourself over me. I’m breaking up with you.” Enjolras knows Grantaire’s voice is too calm, that he’s known he was going to do this for hours, and that’s what breaks him. 

“Please,” he begs over and over as he can’t control the sobs, and that’s when Courfeyrac starts pounding on the bathroom door and he hears one sob leave Grantaire before the call is ended. He hears Grantaire’s voice saying those five words over and over and over and suddenly he’s bent over the toilet, throwing up everything he’s eaten and everything that he hasn’t. 

What Courfeyrac sees when he finally busts the door open is Enjolras dry-heaving and crying at the same time. 

What Combeferre sees when he reaches the apartment twenty minutes later is Courfeyrac holding onto a sobbing Enjolras on the floor of the bathroom.

What Feuilly sees is Courfeyrac carrying his best friend out into the living room, and what he hears are sounds that go from sobs to whimpers to nothing at all as the center grounds the leader once more. It takes an hour. Courfeyrac gives him a look, and then he’s gone. Feuilly knows that means Courfeyrac’s going to throw shit down.

:: ::

Courfeyrac knocks on the door the same moment he gets a text saying that they got Enjolras to eat again but he started crying so hard he threw it all back up. Combeferre wants to know if Joly still has an anti-emetic at Enjolras and Grantaire’s apartment.

“Courfeyrac, come in. Be quiet, though, R’s finally sleeping,” Musichetta ushers him in, leading him to the kitchen where all of the Amis are standing around the island with beers. 

“What are you doing here? How is… how is Enjolras?” Joly asks tentatively. That polite tone, the one that’s slightly pointed, is all it takes for Courfeyrac to lose it. Jehan immediately wraps him in a hug until the fit passes, so much quicker than any of Enjolras’s that night. 

“About that—“ Courfeyrac starts, cutting himself off with a laugh. “It’s not good. I’m actually here to ask if you still have some of that anti-emetic, Joly.” 

“What do you need that for?” Bahorel is fidgeting with the beer bottle, unable to meet Courfeyrac’s red eyes. 

“Oh, you know, because Enjolras is crying so hard that he’s throwing up.” It’s colder than Courfeyrac thought it would come out, but he’s done. He’s going to fight this battle because Enjolras won’t. 

“What? Feuilly said he was fine. That he was sad and shit, yeah, but not that it was that bad.” ‘Ponine’s voice is full of concern. 

“I think R still has it in the cabinet. Let me check,” Joly says, immediately running off. 

“So it’s been fun on your end, too?” Marius asks, fiddling with his fingers. 

“If the complete meltdown didn’t clue you in… yeah. I’ve known him for as long as I can remember and it has never been this bad. The call is what fucking broke him,” Courfeyrac says, shaking his head. 

“Courf, you’re tired. You can crash here,” Jehan says, trying to lead Courfeyrac towards the bedroom.

“No. I have to get back there, because he can’t handle another person fucking leaving him today,” Courfeyrac says, wrenching out of Jehan’s grip as Joly appears. 

“It’s here.” Joly hands Courfeyrac a small bottle filled with a substance that looks a lot like cough syrup. “Do you need me to make a stop over there?”

“No. We’ve got it.” Courfeyrac’s voice is cold as he goes to leave the apartment.

“That’s not fair and you know it,” Bahorel says. “You don’t get to pull this emotional manipulation shit. That’s what got Enjolras into this mess in the first place. We spent hours convincing Grantaire he was good enough to leave Enjolras, that he was worth something without him.” 

“You want to play the emotional manipulation card? Okay, then let’s play it. Enjolras hasn’t slept since Monday because he was so fucking worried about Grantaire, and Grantaire knows it. _He_ picked the fight that started this when he knew Enjolras was tired and not thinking straight and now he’s a victim? He said shit to Enjolras, too.” Slamming the door shut behind him, Courfeyrac starts home.

When he gets there, Enjolras is on the floor, passed out with his head in Feuilly’s lap. The tear tracks haven’t dried on his face yet, but Combeferre gently shakes him awake, preparing a dose of the anti-emetic to go with the tinned soup already warm and in a bowl. The second Enjolras returns to consciousness, he starts crying again. When he sits up, it’s obvious that he’s super fucking dizzy and Combeferre is immediately there, holding him and whispering that it’s okay. 

It isn’t. Enjolras is in fucking pieces on the floor and that is so not okay. Their friends think that Enjolras is stronger, is at fault, and that he isn’t hurting over this. They’ve taken sides in something they swore they wouldn’t and now their leader is too torn up to form words. 

“I’m going to go knock some fucking sense into them.” Feuilly storms out of the apartment, leaving Courfeyrac and Combeferre to try to coax the medicine and soup into the increasingly unresponsive blond. 

“Joly offered to help,” Courfeyrac mumbles once Enjolras takes the medicine and eats the entire bowl of soup. He’s already asleep on Coufeyrac’s shoulder once Combeferre replies. 

“It might not be enough. He’s going to end up in the ER if he continues like this,” Combeferre says, running a hand through his hair. “Were they really being asses about it?”

“Yeah.” Courfeyrac’s voice is cold. 

“Courf, R isn’t having a picnic right now either. I know you’re pissed because it’s E, but he’s not faultless—“

“I never said he was—“

“And he does need their support—“

“I’m not even pissed about that anymore, ‘Ferre! I’m pissed off because they’ve warped it so that it’s all Enjolras’s fault! I’m not pissed at Grantaire because he’s right about some things and he deserves to have feelings in all of this, but _they_ don’t get to judge. Shitty things were said by them both, but that doesn’t change the fact that they’re all blaming Enjolras. It’s like they’ve forgotten all of the times he’s put himself through hell to help them get out of it because it’s easier to make him out to be some cold-hearted bastard. It’s like they’ve forgotten that Enjolras has feelings, too.” When he’s done, Courfeyrac’s breathing is slower. 

“I’ll be okay, Courf.” It’s the first words that Enjolras has spoken since the phone call. “I’m not angry with them. I’m just… hurting.” 

Hurting.

Courfeyrac knows the pain that’s in that single word: he feels as though his insides are cutting themselves apart and that hurting doesn’t even cover what’s happened tonight, but it’s Enjolras. He loves his friends too much to turn the broken shards on anyone besides himself. 

He loves Grantaire too much to blame anyone but himself.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks! I'm sorry if it's really bad... I had too many feelings when I was writing it.


End file.
